


Little Toy Guns

by BlackAquoKat



Series: Law & Disorder [3]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series), markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Nonbinary!POC, Other, POC!OC, Prequel to WKM, This one is particularly angsty, misunderstandings galore, slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 12:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15315072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackAquoKat/pseuds/BlackAquoKat
Summary: In which misunderstandings lead to an exchange of cutting words.





	Little Toy Guns

**Author's Note:**

> Another canon work inspired by the tumblr dialogue prompt "I'm not going to apologize for this. Not anymore," which was sent to me by dontworryaboutanything (check out her DAtective stuff, guys, she is AWESOME and angsty and it's GLORIOUS). Also, I know that Mark just made it canon that WKM took place in 1930, but I'm in too deep to these AUs to go back and make timely adjustments, so for now, everything will stay in the 40s/1950. Maybe one day I'll go back and adjust everything, but for now, I don't have the time to. Enjoy anyway!

Your new office as the District Attorney is, in a word, _incredible_.

You've been DA for about a month, and while it might be too soon to say for certain, you could _definitely_ get used to the cushioned chair, the large desk, and, most importantly, the silence. Nothing quite like having an office to yourself.

But the time to bask is over. You take a sip of your coffee and open up the new case file on your desk.

Just then, the door slams open, and you jerk back into your chair.

“When were you planning on telling me you were buddies with the mayor?!” Detective Abe Lincoln (because who _else_ would barge in unannounced?) shouts as he stomps to your desk.

“I’m so sorry!” your secretary apologizes, a kind but stern woman who is glaring at the Detective enough to melt him on the spot. “I will escort him out—”

“It’s fine, Kathryn, I’ll take care of it.” When she leaves, you turn to Abe. “Now what are you going on about, Abe?”

“Mayor Damien Goodwin!” he shouts.

“What  _about_  Damien?” You hold up your hand just as he opens his mouth. “If you can’t talk at a normal volume, then you can leave, do you understand me,  _Detective?”_

Abe stares, breathing heavy through his nose, before throwing a pile of pictures atop your desk. Pictures of you and Damien at dinner, walking down a street together, relaxing at his place over tea.

“You’ve been spying on us?!” You turn a betrayed eye onto the detective. “What the  _hell,_ Abe?!”

“Don’t you turn this on me!” Abe jabs an accusing finger at you. “I’ve been investigating the mayor for weeks now—”

“Why are you investigating Damien?” you demand. “On what charges?”

“That’s my business—”

“Like hell it is!” You throw the pictures at him, but he only manages to grab one. “When you stormed into my office after _months_ of radio silence and started throwing accusations about me and my best friend, you  _made_  it my business!”

“Ah, so that’s it then?” Abe would’ve looked triumphant if he didn’t look so furious (and hurt?). “You and he are ‘friends’—”

“We went to University together,” you interrupt. “We’ve been friends ever since, I helped support his campaign and he supported mine, he’s the only other person who knows I’m—” You cut off with a shake of your head. “You know what? I don’t have to explain my friendships to you—”

Abe holds up the picture of you and Damien on the street. “You do when your  _friendships_  may be with corrupt politicians—”

“Have you even  _met_  him?”

“I don’t have to, it’s my job to investigate any and all claims that come across my desk!”

“What do you think he’s even done?” you press. “I can guarantee you there is not a corrupt bone in his body—”

“And I’m just supposed to take your word for it?”

The sentence cuts more than you expect it to. Your lips press together and you cross your arms. “I thought we trusted each other,” you say in a hoarse voice.

Abe seems taken aback by your statement but he recovers his anger. “I trust  _you,_ but I don’t trust  _him_ because I was asked to look into—”

“Look into  _what?”_ you press. “Because  _clearly_  you think I’m involved in whatever you think Damien is doing—”

“What happens if he’s dirty?” Abe suddenly points out. “Huh? What happens if it comes out that he’s not as pure as you apparently think he is—”

“I don’t think anyone would think I’m so naïve—”

“—what would that mean for your reputation, that you were apparently ‘best friends’ with him?! How do you think—”

“What is this really about?” you interject. “If this was an official investigation, you would have taken me to the precinct—”

“Don’t change the subject—”

“I will damn well do as I please since apparently you have such a problem with my friendships!” Your arms open wide and drop. “And guess what,  _Detective,_  you’re not the first! Everyone has a problem with the rich and handsome Mayor Goodwin being friends with someone like me. I have never gotten a break from questions on what I could _possibly_ want from him, because clearly we couldn’t  _just_  be friends. But maybe you missed all of that, since you haven't bothered answering my calls _or_ my letters.”

Abe's manic countenance suddenly turns to something more guilty. “That’s not what I mean—”

“Then why are you here?” you ask again, fists clenching so tight your tendons pop. The heat in your face is overwhelming in its intensity. “Why are you here trying to make me feel guilty for associating with someone who has been there for me when no one else has? I’m not going to apologize for this. Not anymore.” You gesture to the door. “Unless you plan on telling me what’s _really_ going on with you, you can leave. I don’t have time being accused by people I thought were my friends.”

Abe flinches away as though you’ve slapped him. For the longest time, he doesn’t move. You almost let yourself believe he’ll talk to you, and the two of you can work out whatever is wrong—

But then he gathers the pictures and stomps out of your office.

After a moment of tense quiet, Kathryn pokes her head through the open doorway. "Would you like me to make some tea?"

The kind offer just about shatters your paper thin pretense.  _You will not cry here, you will not cry here._

"That would be great. Thank you," you say through the giant tumor in your throat.

 

* * *

 

Later that evening, when you arrive home, you curl up on your couch and finally let your tears fall.

As good as you are with arguments, you hate having them with people you care about.

You sit there and wallow in your anger and hurt for a good while before eventually there are no tears left to shed and a pounding headache to take care of. You grab an aspirin and a drink. As you down both, you go to play the tape for the answering machine. There’s one from your mother, another from the head of the police department about another case, and then—

_“Hey, it’s me.”_

You stiffen at the sound of the Detective’s voice on the machine.

_“Listen, I…I wanted to…shit…I don’t know. I’m sorry, okay? You’re right, what I said was…it was bad, I shouldn’t have—God, I don’t even know what I’m saying. Just…give me a call, please? I don’t want to…I still trust you, I swear. I’m sorry, please call me.”_

The machine clicks off, and you’re left staring at it with dry and aching eyes. He sounds so worried…well, worried for him.

With a sigh, you pick up the phone and dial his number on the rotary.

Abe must have been hovering by his phone because he picked up on the second ring.

_“Hello?”_

“Wanna meet at the pub?”

A sigh of relief crackles through the speaker. _“I’d love to, but…my boss has me working overnight on another case, and—”_

“Another time then? I’ve got plans tomorrow, so…Tuesday evening?”

_“Sounds good.”_

“I’ll meet you there.”

A beat of quiet. You don't know if you're waiting for him to say something, or if he's waiting for  _you_ to say something, but when nothing but more silence follows, you hang up the phone.

You fully intend to meet him there and work everything out, because he’s the only friend you have aside from Damien and damn it, you _do_ care about him. Losing him would be…gutting.

Though you don’t know it at the time, Abe had fully planned on telling you _everything._  About how his friend had asked him to investigate the mayor and other strangers. Something about the whole situation felt so _wrong_ and he didn’t know how to deal with it, and he just wanted your input on what he should do.

But the two of you never got the chance to do so, because your plans for tomorrow involved your attendance to a poker party at Markiplier Manor, and his as well.


End file.
